


Untitled

by electricghoti



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Avvar, Avvar Culture and Customs, Fluff, Gen, Huge time skips between "chapters", Incomplete, Mages, Romance, Spirits, arguing with spirits, ask me about my sad headcanon, eventual blighting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-08-11 20:16:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7906144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electricghoti/pseuds/electricghoti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Set before the Golden City was breached and the Avvar of the Frostback Basin are still subjugated by Tevinter Imperium occupiers.  Heavily incomplete story. Only bits and pieces written. Relies heavily on scraps of lore and headcanon world building since it's so far in the past. Unlikely to be updated in a timely manner. Mostly saved to AO3 as a backup. Heavily collaborated worldbuilding with slayerofkillabee.</p></blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

All is quiet in the Hold. Night brings rest for even the mountain people. Fires burn low in the smoke and silence, tended only by a few hearthkeepers acting as watchmen in the dark. A hut stands separate from its clustered kin, sheltered in privacy rather than exile, sheltering the path toward the open door with a weave of vines and tended buds. Dormant in the sun, heady fragrances waft from unfurled blooms of white and pale lilac reaching for the moon as if in worship of the Lady of the Skies. The Lady casts the light of her blessing across the wide shoulders of a lone figure brandishing a blade flashing silver in return.

The green tinted glow of false fire burning in the hut casts flickering shadows which darken the angular features of the figure to a more severe countenance than merely her physical stature would impose. She alters between shaking the blade in the air as a parent shakes their finger to scold a child, and slicing withered leaves held more delicately than her calloused and scarred fingers would imply. Wisps of light bounce among several of the open blooms, vibrating in mirth when they are shooed away, winking in and out like the twinkle of stars. More solid figures in vague humanoid shapes hover nearby, their outlines illuminated by the fire within the hut. Their arms wave in either excitement or annoyance, although they speak no words which can be understood by eavesdroppers lurking nearby, only by the emissary of spirits - the Auger - who they pester now.

  
A one sided conversation coming from the Auger tending her flowers to any listening nearby. A somewhat exasperated tone of speech interrupting the train of thought with placating words to calm spirits both anxious and excited of a recent development within the hold: a young girl touched by winter, as white as the moon flowers, walks within the shadows of the Hold with more confidence than she has before. Compassion guides her, young and kind. A special partner. Potential teacher. The girl will have magic manifest soon.

  
The Auger pauses, raising both hands in surrender as she turns towards the spirits buzzing at her side. She understands the excitement of this sun-sheltered girl with a friend to keep close. She understands the worry as well, of losing her to Tevinter conquerors entering the Hold in search of mage children to slither and whisk away to their distant homeland. The Auger relents, promising to talk to the girl and young Compassion and bind them as student and teacher before she reveals herself to outsiders. She can offer no safety, as Auger’s apprentice is filled by another, but she can at least shelter the girl’s nature from the predatory gaze of Tevinter.

The spirits consider her words in silence before fading from view in acknowledgement and agreement. They will watch, wait, and influence as they always do, and trust in their emissary to mortal matters. The pruning blade is slid into a sheath and the wisps seem to dim in loss of their playmate finishing her nightly duty. The Auger murmurs words of thanks to the Lady for clear skies and good counsel from the spirits in her realm before heading to her own rest. A lone spirit silently observing from the sidelines speaks as she crosses the threshold of her hut, a warning and an observation from one older than the others already flitting in the Fade, “Take care to be timely. She is a special prize for invaders. A safe beacon and leader for your people here. She _dreams_.”


	2. Chapter 2

An animal skin cover on a window peels at the corners where it has started to curl with age, allowing narrow beams of light to cast golden shadows across the formerly darkened bedroom. The waning sun prickles the eyes of a young girl sleeping in the safety of the dark, causing her to wince and hide her eyes beneath pale hands as she rolls away. To a normal person it is a helpful awakening to rise with the sun. To a young girl touched by winter and violet eyes cracked with icy blue, even the brightness of a sun falling from its peak causes pain from sensitivity.

She huffs a sigh as she rubs the sleep from her eyes with her palms, lamenting that she left her dreams so suddenly. She hoped her friend wouldn't be upset she woke without him. Shielding her eyes against the sun, she rolls toward the edge of the bed to carefully feel her way toward the window with her free hand. She shivers at the feel of stone against her bare feet which jolts her awake more than the surprise sun. Her hand passes over fur and sanded wood against the wall until she finds a space in the wall indicating a corner of the window, smoothing down the lower corners of the skin curtain until they stiffen and stick against the wall once more. The upper corners, at least, will not be directly in her eyes.

Blinking slowly as her eyes further adjust, she nibbles at her lower lip as she peers around the room, uncertain if she should look to see if her father returned from the hunt, or try to find her friend where she left him. Exactly where she wasn't sure, but...maybe she could at least apologize first in case her father came home? The Auger taught her that the gods should be treated as respectfully as her father, but why not little ones too? The ones without a name that are shy like her and don't speak very loud shouldn't be put aside. Ones which don’t think she is too sickly to play with. Ones like her new friend. Her only friend. The realization spurs her to action. Exiting through the curtain in the doorway, she gathers a spear of smoked meat left beside the hearth to cook since early in the night. A plain earthen plate is ringed with ripe fruits and tubers before she slides the cubes of meat into the center. Pretty. Presentable. She hoped he would at least like one of the foods she chose.

The plate is placed on a shelf acting as an altar in the bedroom. Tablets with symbols of the Mountain Father and the Lady of the Skies are prominently displayed, while less powerful names are chiseled into the bone and wood they rest against. A simple shrine placed on the floor so that anyone who prayed would be on equal ground to both the gods and other people. Twin beams of sun from the window behind her frame the shrine she sits in front of, the warmth from the lines of light curling around her shoulders like reassuring hands. Bowing her head in respect, an apology is whispered for no ears but the gods themselves, a quiet desire to be with her friend is given to him alone.

Silence is her answer.

She half-expected a beating drum or echoed words or something to let her know she was heard. Raising her head in disappointment she manages to exhale only part of a sigh before sharply bringing it back in surprise. An amorphous wispy form glitters between the sunbeams, twirling excitedly when it notices her staring. The broad grin at this familiar sight is instant and she can’t help but exclaim, “You’re here! You heard!” She reaches her hand toward the little wisp in greeting, happiness and relief bubbling up in equal measure as it brushes against her fingers. As warm as the sun on her shoulders and softer than downy feathers. She knows he likes words, but touch is easier for him. Easy for her too so that she doesn’t need to explain everything aloud.

He understands. He is here now after following the trail she left in her dream and ready for helping and happiness outside in the Hold, hoping he can be wherever she wants to today. Excitement dances along her fingers. She wants to try exploring outside today, “but I need to cover up more” she finishes aloud, beginning to rise from her seated position. A pluck at the fabric on her knees gives her pause. Her questioning expression is answered with a wispy orb circling above the offering plate she prepared shortly before. Shaking her head in refusal her second attempt to rise from the floor was interrupted with more plucking, followed by the small grinding noise of the place being briefly shoved in her direction.

Pursing her lips in response, she hovers a hand over a cube of meat, caught between guilt for being about to eat a god's offering and embarrassment for her hunger for it. She supposed she was a little too over excited to dream before her nap and forgot to eat. If her spirit friend was thinking about scolding her like her father, he didn’t share it. His aura is all patience as he waits for her and glowing with a rainbow of colors as if in encouragement. She knows he is satisfied when the spirit flies off to the cloth hood hanging off a hook on her bed. Her only protection from facial burns, and shade for her eyes while in the sun. She can’t help but giggle at the bouncy butterfly pattern the spirit makes while attempting to carry the hood. Shaking her head in amusement this time, she rises unhindered from the floor to help him. Donning the hood before was once cause for dread, and outside a hurtful place she could never navigate. It is different with this spirit who guides and guards her. It is different for him too, she learned. They are both less lonely since they found each other. Secretly hopes this never changes. She is not the only one excited for a friend.


	3. Chapter 3

A single shadowed silhouette shivers in the still of night as she faces towards a horizon split between sea and sky. A flat outcropping juts from the side of the mountain, eroded by wind and lapping waves until sand and surf are all that is below. While bundled against the creeping chill of fall, a hand is exposed to support a glittery orb resting against fingers. Faded and soft and all but invisible to all except the girl speaking in warm, but hushed tones. 

The muted crunch of footsteps on gravelly rock behind them alerts the spirit of a nearby visitor to the bluff, dimming his glow lest he be seen by whoever happened to pass by. The shape of a shadowy, towering creature with empty eyes causes the spirit to wink out of sight, startled by its sudden appearance, and he trills a short warning to the girl. Even invisible, the spirit makes a jagged path towards the nearest edge of rock to hide from the dead eyes of a creature sure to spot him.   
The girl twists her back to face the creature with eyes wide in surprise. Two burly arms reach toward her while the muzzled shape leans down as if to devour her whole. Alarmed, but too shy to sense or act, the tiny wisp hides underneath the rock ledge to avoid seeing her fate. 

“Snowbear!” A voice booms without malice, throaty but no growl from a terrible beast.   
“Father!” A smaller voice chirps in response, pleased and unafraid.

Unbelieving, the spirit peeks over the rock to see for himself if the voices were true. The monster in the dark was merely a man. A large, burly man with the skin of some hunted animal worn on his back like a cloak, a scruffy rounded beard pulled from the middle into a kind smile to match kinder eyes. Soft and dark and glittering with reflected light from the sky. Such a mountain of a man sat on the ground behind the girl with pale skin and white hair, embracing her with both his arms and legs protectively. Kindly. Mistaking such a warm soul for cold made the spirit glad he could not be seen, for guilt at his hasty escape would dim his inner light to near nothing.  
Father and daughter were talking to each other now, but not all the pieces of words reached from where he was hiding. “I love this place, you know. I know you and your mom called this place your own for a long time and it’s hard to leave what is special to you. Your mother and I even used to sit here before you were born, just talking under the stars. Well...she talked. I mostly listened.” Father chuckled at a joke he supposed was funny, but the spirit was merely confused at the significance. What does it mean? Quieter words from his friend were missed in the musing, perhaps a question given the way her voice pitched upward at the end. The missing strands pulling at this curiosity, he hovered as close to his friend as he dared. Enough to hear the words. Enough to keep her in his sight. Should a real monster come out of the dark, he would be brave this time to help her escape. 

"I told her that I would be as Korth the Mountain-Father and be as steadfast as stone in my devotion. That in my arms I give shelter as the mountain caves and keep wisdom at my feet to ground me, even as my heart would soar when I am near my Lady of the Skies. I did my best to honor that oath until the true Lady willed her spirit to join her in the sky, but not before we found wisdom together. Do you know who that is?"

"Um...if you're Korth and mom was the Lady of the Skies, does that make me...Sigfrost the bear? He sits at Korth’s feet and tells him secrets, right?"

"It does and you’re right, Snowbear! I've learned much from your wisdom and I suspect you will learn plenty of secrets in the years to come. You already see more than most your age. That must be why you are favored by the spirits."

“I don’t know. I think I’m too different from everyone, but..” She pauses, glancing to the side, seeking reassurance that this is all right and he is still here. He is shy enough that he is barely able to twinkle through the cloak of invisibility he wears. She is small. A mere candle of warmth he can be almost close enough to touch, but the inner flame of her father both attracts and intimidate him. “I do have one friend. I was talking to him before you got here, not mom. He’s small and was lonely, but he’s nice wants to help people. He helps me all the time when I go out before evening.”

"Oh? I’m happy you found a friend, young one. He sounds very compassionate. Would you like to tell me a little more about him? " The question makes her happy, she broadly smiles as she twists in her father's arms to wrap her arms around his waist. The words bubble from her mouth and lift like dandelion puffs caught in the wind, soft and shy, yet strong. A twinge of sadness in her father's smile is buried in her hair, covered to leave behind loss in favor of love. Hope. His daughter has a future with a spirit friend if he can hide her from Tevinter. He still has two knots left for a wife who lives with the Lady. He can devote that time all for his daughter to make sure she is safe from herself.

The observing spirit doesn't truly understand the words it feels from the two silhouettes in the night, but the connection makes him feel warm. The father is shaking loose pearls of worry, happy for a daughter who is smiling honestly now. A daughter who smiles because of a spirit. Something about the idea is balling up new worries to replace the old. Different, not because of what he is, but what he represents. He doesn't know why, but her smile warms her father as much as helping her hurts. The father glances up in this moment as if catching something at the edge of his vision, and the shy spirit is startled at the sight, shimmering briefly before he weaves his way back to the Fade to leave them in full privacy.


	4. Chapter 4

Tonight he departs from his routine, leaving her to dream alone for the first time since he stumbled upon her spirit when she was young, then only as bright as a flickering candle to his eyes. Now she is a lantern, a stronger beacon in the dark which draws him ever closer to her as a moth to flame. Now he is not dancing toward the flame, but staring wide-eyed in wonder beside it. She is dimmer under moonlight than when he is with her in the Fade, but shines with silver and a smoothness to her skin he has hardly seen, never appreciated in his rush to circle the warmth of her dreams. He hovers a hand over her cheek, intending to frame her face with a feather-light touch in his desire to feel the undercurrent of energy she holds within. He halts before his fingertips can touch, hesitant to disturb her in a manner that is routine. He feels some unease underneath the surface of sleeping peace and while he wants to stroke and soothe before slipping into the Fade, he finds himself wanting to be here more. Real. 

Where he can feel radiating warmth from her skin, count each breath she takes, see her under the light of a silver moon and shining sun, smell lavender and smoky incense when a breeze blows through her hair and…something he’s never done before. Taste. He cannot emulate a thing he has never experienced. The Fade does not create, it mimics, and he wants it to be real. She deserves it to be real and he...has not wanted more until now. Now, when he can see how beautiful all of her is, not just her kindness or her laugh or the way she explains things from books he does not understand. He is just a spirit friend, but he wants to be more. He wants to change for her. Acknowledgement of the thought and its implications chills him, causing him to curl his fingers away from her in budding fear. Can he change? Should he? Is desire how he is changing into a demon? Will he want to possess her, dousing her soul? Would he still be Clement to her, or merely a stranger she cannot even consider a friend?

All the doubts and questions roil in his mind for hours like a boat spinning in a storm. He thinks and counts her breaths and stares at her mouth murmuring disconnected words from her dreams. He is conflicted, frozen like this until her lids fluttered as if she is about to wake, bubbles of words float to the surface of her lips, and she settles once more. _Clement. Beloved._ Humans would call it a sign of faith from the gods. He is not human, but he wishes to be, wants to be. For his Sabine. He decides then that it wouldn’t hurt to try.


	5. Chapter 5

He is careful not to wake her as he rises from his curled position at her side, leaning on a forearm still pinned beneath her shoulder, daring not to disturb her rest by removing it. His other hand still hovers, reverent instead of hesitant over her cheek, paused in brief contemplation of this face which echoes the paleness of the moon. A decision he must make waylays his intended act, a question of where his first will be, and one more easily answered than he thought. Not her eyes, which regard the world with kindness. Not her brow, behind which magic dwells. Her cheek he already kisses with his palm, drawing her close to his heart before she settles to slumber. He touches two fingers to her lower lip while he leans close, pulling it down from the upper while he presses his mouth against hers. It feels...different with his head bowed low in gentle worship of lips which smile at him honestly, a tongue he seeks with his own that speaks to him as an equal. The only part of her he feels he can be her equal in intimacy as a man, and not just a spirit. She is wet and sweet with the taste of cinnamon and home, a spice that wants to pair with bursts of color blooming as night flowers do without the harshness of the sun to overpower. In this moment, she is his, her mouth possessed in offering to his own, at least until he feels stirring beneath him signalling imminent exit from the land of dreams.

She wakes to full consciousness beneath him, startled hands grasping his jaw with the intent to push away in instinct. He separates willingly, leaving space to breath and violet eyes snapping open to gauge if what is in front of her is friend, or not. He says nothing while he waits for her to processes what he has done, heart fluttering in anticipation and careful hope alike. Mere moments stretch to minutes for him and he lowers his gaze to her mouth involuntarily, but cannot keep himself from drinking in her eyes, even as he bites his lower lip in nervousness. She swims through immediate confusion regarding her position, but bubbles of realization and a joy that surprises him breaks through the surface. A shift for each he can feel through contact, staring in wide-eyed awe as the small waves overtake another, growing into happiness and a budding something else so easily. He can feel the moment she decides, also marked by a change that angles her body closer to his.  
"Yes." Her mouth whispers, pushing her lips to his in conscious reciprocity. _Stay_ , her fingers tell him, sliding to gently cup the back of his head.


	6. Chapter 6

In the languid heat of the jungle, the air shimmered in nervous waves below a black perch of stone. White gauze of translucent netting shielded the space from hungry, biting mouths undeterred by the smoke of incense wafting from the tongues of twin dragon heads guarding the door to the inner sanctum. The fading light from the sun dipping below the treeline where crooked, wooden hands stretched toward the final rays as if grasping for salvation from the sticky humidity coating everything below. There was no cooling breeze in which to lap the sweat beading on his brow, nor did the shade from the roof above provide him the relief it normally afforded against the sun. Instead the air stilled, as if holding a breath in charged anticipation which his rigid posture unconsciously matched in his observation of the dark, billowing wall of clouds creeping toward him in silence. Anxious fingers brushed smoothly over a small amulet embedded with sharp, combed wings of lyrium reminiscent of the guardian gargoyles behind him, radiating an unwaning coolness in spite of the sticky heat. Light rippled beneath the surface of the lyrium in time to fingertips tensing each time unheard lightning lit up the insides of the storm, a brief view of the skeleton powering the body of a great beast.

The air tingled for some time after several flashes, biding in nervous energy until the slow roll of thunder reached his ears in a low growl. He was afraid. He was alone, unable to avert his eyes from the coming storm. He was transfixed, insulated in the Fade from such chaos of mortal nature, and ignorant from his nightly visitations restricted to the place which caged and saved him - her bedroom, a pocket of calm and solace kept hidden from the rest of the world. Until earlier, when her invitation opened the curtain in the brightness of day and harried hands pressed a focus for magic she didn’t understand the meaning of into his reaching palm expecting the heat of skin, not the chill of metal.

_Later_. She told him, a promise given through touch and sound and a sensation of want that he felt was all too brief in the face of months of physical separation. The amulet held promise and consequence both: could he be unbound, yet also bound and still remain himself, whole for her protection? Now, he was simply alone with thoughts which circled uneasily in his mind like the swirl of the approaching storm, waiting with anticipation for a signal to slice the tension. No grand movement nor magic signaled the change he awaited, instead the world breathed in response to some unknown condition now met, whispering its relief in the rustle of leaves and gentle caress bringing the scent of rain on the wind. Regardless, the spell of stillness hanging heavy in the air broke with the breeze, which heralded a shift in energy behind him as if merely waiting for announcement before revealing itself. A pale hand he mapped with his fingers for countless nights slipped underneath his arm to rest against his heart, opposite the face he had kissed for many more which rested her forehead in between his shoulders.

"Sabine. I finally feel you." He murmurs, placing his hand over hers as he closed his eyes to the storm for the first time to bathe in the sensation: soothing, open in her love and relief he is still here, a current of worry underneath the surface, a hand reaching out like a beacon to find his way home. A beacon which put him at ease at her touch for not nearly long enough before lightning broke through the dark of his lids, and the roll of thunder soon after an unwelcome reminder of his worry which caused him to flinch in renewed tension.


	7. Chapter 7

He found her too late, his Sabine. Too many voices wailed in his head and without, crying across the Veil in need of mercy that drowned the one voice who needed him above the others. He found her kneeled on the ground in front of a shallow pit dug with desperate fingers clawing at the earth, first filled with pain shouted from her soul, now pooling with the lifeblood of silent vows matching silent bodies with red smiles across their necks. Red spattered on gauzy white, the sleeves soaking up red to match her bloody hands. One still held the weapon of mercy's deliverance, the other was clasped over her mouth in horror and silent sobbing. 

"Sabine!" He cried, choking back fear and nearly overwhelming sensation of keening need, of a mind in pain cracking like ice under the strain. He felt himself running towards her when streaming black eyes met his and the hand from her mouth reached toward him in desperate supplication, held back in silence from a print covering her mouth in bloody facsimile of the painted hand worn in calmer times when her god spoke for the people, and she did not. He knelt before her, grasping her shaking hand in one of his own, the other drawing her tight against his chest in complete disregard of blood and spirits and screaming beyond the Veil. Only the feel of her mattered. Her intent. The last bit of innocence he couldn't save and vain gestures that he could somehow shield her from the sacrifices she took. 

"Clement." She sobbed into his shoulder, flinging the knife from her fingers to blindly grab at the fabric of his shirt, her knuckles managing to turn white despite the shuddering tremors shaking her body. "They were so loud. In so much pain and they couldn't even scream or say anything. They still held their vows." She didn't need to explain to him. He knew. He could feel no malice or bitterness clouding the whole-hearted compassion in her intent. He whispered this to her, affirming he thought her no murderer or demon in a voice he hoped would begin to soothe, to buffer against the spirits clustering like crows cawing at bodies in a battlefield. "Clement, I had to. I didn't know of any other way to help them. I had to try and give them peace because I...I can't give them what they want most. Razikale doesn't answer. I can give everything else, except Her." He still knew. 

He knew his Sabine and her heart desperate to ease burdens and calm fears. It is harder to hear than when he first came into the world, but he can feel her honesty and her hurt and he in turn hurts for her. There are no demons here, just misguided compassion and the love who couldn't protect her heart or her head from taking more burdens than mortals were meant to bear. "I know." He said aloud, making his whispers as real as her spoken words and her beautiful, bloodied body held tight within his arms. "Sabine, I know." Tears began to stream down his cheeks in full force, in a rain that washes away nothing and instead binds them in emotions he dare not name. All he can do in this moment is hold her close and cry. Together in all things.


	8. Chapter 8

It’s dark and quiet, without the rippling heat of lava, or the screeching echoes of metal striking against stone. The soft glow of lyrium lines the walls and crumbling buildings in thin geometric shapes that soothes, rather than sears her eyes. The geometry is something to focus on with its concrete forms and precise lines, but even so, staring too long in one spot begins to maker her feel woozy, with knots tightening in her stomach in fear of some unremembered desire. She stumbles over rubble just as a sharp pain blooms from behind her eyes like needles pressed into a pincushion. She feels herself falling, terrified and desperate and the face of a person flashes before her eyes, a strobing image that seems to blind her even though it is only a memory. 

The face is fuzzy and formless. She can’t make out the expression, but something compels her to reach out her hands towards them as if they were the only thing that could save her. Please don’t let me go! The force of her knees hitting the ground wrenches the memory from her mind fast enough that the sudden absence unsettles her as much as its loss. Her hands press against nothing but the cool stone of a wall, empty of the warmth of...whatever it was she reached for before. She lays her forehead against the stone in hopes that the chill will wash away the feverish heat and her bleeding heart crushed in its loneliness. “Don’t leave me.” She whispers to no one, weeping acid tears for the loss of someone she can’t name. 

“I’ll find you.” Another whispers, unheard in a different dark space where a golden city had gone black.

**Author's Note:**

> Set before the Golden City was breached and the Avvar of the Frostback Basin are still subjugated by Tevinter Imperium occupiers. Heavily incomplete story. Only bits and pieces written. Relies heavily on scraps of lore and headcanon world building since it's so far in the past. Unlikely to be updated in a timely manner. Mostly saved to AO3 as a backup. Heavily collaborated worldbuilding with slayerofkillabee.


End file.
